


but what a thrill (to play with fire)

by sorrow_key



Category: Liveship Traders Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Realm of the Elderlings - Robin Hobb
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, First Kiss, Malta being Malta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrow_key/pseuds/sorrow_key
Summary: “I for one,” Malta declared, “intend to practice.”Delo blushed furiously. Malta and her fantasies! First she wouldn’t accept she wasn’t going to the Harvest Offering at all, much less in a woman’s gown. And now this! Where she had managed to impress her friend before, Malta now went on the offensive. Her practicing kissing with anyone in the near future was as likely as Delo actually wearing women’s clothes to the ball. Why did Malta always have to get carried away like that?
Relationships: Malta Haven/Delo Trell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	but what a thrill (to play with fire)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ally_mcgee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ally_mcgee/gifts).



> Warning for some canon-typical classism, internalized homophobia and sexism as well as mention of child abandonment. 
> 
> Written for a discord prompt. You're dealing with a lot and I really hope that things will improve for you!

Sunlight fell on them freely, forcing to Delo squint her eyes most annoyingly. The Vestrit garden room was a thing of beauty that she used to envy with her entire heart.

When she was just a girl, she’d spent days convincing mother that they certainly needed one also. How else would they impress their guests? Every Trader had a big mansion filled with history! To be special, they needed neat rows of flowers, small winding trees that bore giant fruits and vibrant blooms with unimaginably lovely scents. And if their scheme just so happened to be fit for a romantic novel, if it made Delo feel like a princess, if it impressed Malta and made _her_ jealous of their house instead... Those were a bonus. A bonus that she’d really wanted.

Sitting under the growing heat of the ceiling made partially of glass making her reconsider and also feel a bit faint. Not to mention, it felt much emptier than it used to be. Gone were the prized miniature trees and so was the much sought-after bouquet of golden brooch blooms, gifted by Rain Wilders. 

But it was still beautiful and Malta showed no ill effects at all. She sat right next to a bush of tiny red roses, just so that lower handing branches would brush against her dress and calves if she leaned just so. Behind Delo instead bloomed an assortment of sunset and purple colored dahlias, filling her nose with a sweet, earthy smell. Malta gave her tours sometimes - not often enough to be regular or quite show-offish, but Delo could tell she was proud of it. It was one of the few things in her family Malta had always been proud of. They’d used to talk much about it; how their mothers nagged, how annoying their siblings were, of the plights of hairdos and vegetables. 

But now? More and more, everything felt like a contest. And it was fun, it was, showing off her new dresses, the new tricks of etiquette Havi taught her and using the advantage of being nearly a full year older and wiser to the fullest. And it was certainly fun to see the answering spark in her friend’s eyes, to have Malta’s dark eyes following her and see the telltale sign of her puffy cheeks proving her jealousy. 

And if Delo missed how they’d used to be sometimes, well, that was just a part of growing up. They still met up almost every day, they still shared conspirational smiles even when they played at their parents’ courtesy. They weren’t going to turn into Delo’s mother and her friends, who only invited them to either complain or show off. Delo took a delicate sip of the cold tea Rache had brought for them from the kitchen and fanned herself some more.

The servant was the only one who knew where they were. The rest of Malta’s family was either on the fields, tending to her grandfather in the upper stairs or off at sea. It was the reason they braved the lowstoked heat of the garden room instead of the fresh air outside - to be unbothered by the buzz and work going on there.

“Oh believe me, Delo,” Malta said, “everything is going to be much different when father comes back home. We won’t have to hide out in here or make do with plain sweet lemon tea - I’m sure we’ll have a feast with all the fine things he’ll bring us.” She paused. “Oh, and I guess Aunt Althea will be back too. Do you remember her?”

Delo had faint memories of a strong-armed willful woman who usually wore trousers and brought much talk of ships and foreign lands with her. She’d given Delo a brooch like an afterthought once, she thinks, but that had been back when Delo was too little to remember. 

“I suppose I do,” she replied calmly, not letting show that both the aunt and Malta’s dad unnerved her somewhat. Malta’s dad looked so exotic with his light hair and he was always charming and decisive when she saw him, though not always as courteous as a born Trader. But something about him reminded her of father when he was at his angriest. She didn’t like to think of it. Malta worshipped the ground her father walked on - she’d just think Delo a coward if she told her.

“I hope I can still find time to meet up with you,” Malta fretted, her round face scrunching up. “I’m sure everyone will run around like headless chickens once everyone's back. Oh, I know it'll be amazing and you know I can't wait for it, but I will miss seeing you every day.” 

Delo smiled at her, now fully genuine and touched her friend’s arm. Warm feelings of tenderness and friendship ran through her. Malta could still be such a child and oh, so was Delo. She’d miss Malta also.

“Don’t you worry, Malta. We’ll find time. And if not, we’ll still be here to meet up once they leave for the sea again.” Delo paused mischievously, squeezing Malta’s arm before letting it go. “At the latest, we’ll meet again after the Harvest Offering.”

Malta scowled at her before returning to a sweet smile, no longer distraught but competitive. “Why do you say it would be afterwards, my dear Delo? I _told_ you, once I tell my father of the unfairness of being banned from yet another ball when I am practically a woman, I will be allowed to go.”

Delo privately doubted it. She’d asked Mother and there was no way propriety would allow Malta to come. Ephron Vestrit would still be either dead or dying and neither made it appropriate for her to dance at balls. But why shatter her friend’s dreams? Malta would just get angry and kick her out. Delo didn’t want to quarrel with her.

“Yes, you told me and I do hope that you’ll be there as well. But if not, then I will just tell you everything.” She looked into the distance, knowing how it would make Malta beside herself with wondering. “I will be sure to share my new experiences... if it should be appropriate.”

Malta bristled, her dark hair swaying and put down her cup on their delicate tea tray. Then she batted her eyes at Delo the way she had just before making Kitten Shuyev the laughingstock of all the girls over some scarves or others.

“But Delo, you’re my dearest friend and I know you. The Harvest Offering is so soon and you are still such a child- Oh don’t be mad at me, we are both still growing. So I worry for you. Are you sure you are… prepared for such new womanly experiences.” 

“Malta, I’m so glad you care about me so much. But there’s no need for your worry, I assure you,” Delo paused dramatically in spite of her precipitation, “I am prepared.”

Malta had driven right at the weak spots in her tales. Since there was no way she’d actually go to the Harvest Offering, Delo felt sure in driving her friend’s imagination wild. In truth, the ball was bound to be dazzling, yes, but much less glamorous and a lot more stuffy than Malta fancied. In truth, her 11 months of advantage didn’t amount to so much more experience in all things womanly as Delo played at.

“Of course I don’t doubt you, Delo, but as your friend, I want to know.” Malta pushed further, because of course she did. She was Malta. “Are you really? Have you ever,” Malta paused and leaned in, breathing against her ear, “kissed a boy before at all?”

Delo jerked. Of course she hadn’t! It would be scandalous enough to kiss a man she wasn’t married to as a woman, let alone while she was still a girl. Mother would skin her and father- father would probably leave her on the street without even a chance to get her things. But the way Malta looked at her, anticipatively triumphant and pitiful all at once, made her want to prove her wrong. But this wouldn’t be a simple white lie like her getting a woman’s gown for the ball. Malta wouldn’t let up until she knew every single detail of her supposed kiss. And if it got back to her parents… No, she couldn’t afford to lie to her friend like that.

Delo fanned herself some more, like Havi had shown her - letting the beauty of the colorful Rain Wild birds on it distract from her pause. Of course, this would be easier with a hypothetical persistent man than with Malta who had seen the fan’s design countless times. “No, Malta,” she said, wistfully, returning her stare with a pitying gaze of her own, “of course I haven’t. But waiting… makes it all much more delightful. Though I suppose it’s hard to understand for a younger girl.”

Satisfied with her grown-up reply (and grateful to the novel from Mother she’d stolen a phrase from), Delo turned to study one of the roses that grew closer to her, holding it loosely. Better to let Malta stew on her words, even if she was dying to see her friend’s expression for herself.

Instead, soft thinner hands grasped her own. Now Malta was the one to reach for her, her eyes like a hunting cat rather than chastened as Delo had hoped. “I do hope you are right, Delo. But if you wait too long… how will you know if you can- I’m sorry to even speak of it- kiss _well_?”

Delo gaped at her. Malta hadn’t! But it was Malta, she thought despairingly, of course she had. Malta was always the daring one, the one who spoke up when neither Delo or any of her friends would. She’d wondered if it was because her father wasn’t a Bingtowner or if it was what her parents meant when they disparaged the “Vestrit hardheadedness”. It had made it all the sweeter for Delo to finally be the grown up one, the one ahead. She knew she could get offended - she had all the right to. But Malta wouldn’t take that as a defeat, she’d just think Delo too uptight or sensitive. She wouldn’t back down.

“How will you?” Delo asked, twisting her hand to hold onto Malta’s arm as well. “How would anyone else?”

“I for one,” Malta declared, “intend to practice.” 

Delo blushed furiously. Malta and her fantasies! First she wouldn’t accept she wasn’t going to the Harvest Offering at all, much less in a woman’s gown. And now this! Where she had managed to impress her friend before, Malta now went on the offensive. Her practicing kissing with anyone in the near future was as likely as Delo actually wearing women’s clothes to the ball. Why did Malta always have to get carried away like that?

“And who do you intend to do that with?” She asked with her mother’s most condescending tones, no longer bothering to shield her friend’s pride, 

Malta paused, her hand nearly slipping from Delo’s arm, before leaning in even closer. “Oh, don’t be angry with me, Delo. I just want us both to be happy. There are things no one will teach us, not our mothers or those servant teachers, except ourselves.”

“What are you thinking?” Delo asked, suddenly breathless.

"I told you," Malta looked at her meaningfully, letting her go at last. “if no one will do it, we can teach ourselves.”

Delo’s chest was too tight to hold her heart, strangling her insides like a noose. She felt every drop of sweat on her forehead, every trace from Malta’s fingers. She almost wished they’d left a mark so she could explain the heat she felt. This room with its pale, modestly adorned walls and its light earthy scent became too wide, too open and alltogether too much.

“Malta,” she whispered. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

Malta raised a scornful eyebrow at her. “Don’t be a baby, Delo, it’s not like it would mean anything. I thought you were more grown up than that."

Delo faintly realised that their play fight had turned into something bigger than themselves, a building storm that raged on as it went. Like a fire they'd fed.

"Oh Malta," she breathed, "there's still so much you don't understand."

And then Delo kissed her.

Delo really kissed her.

Malta's lips were still and surprised beneath hers and Delo wondered: had Malta, despite all her needling, never actually expected this to happen?

Before she could decide if that made her smug or terrified, Malta began to kiss back. Where her lips had been soft as rose petals and as sensitive, they now turned clever and fiery. The words in the novels suddenly made sense to her and turned from pretty fancies into consuming reality. Malta swiftly licked at Delo's lips and deepened the kiss. How did she know to do this? 

Delo threw her hands around Malta's neck, burying one in her friend's locks and holding on for dear life. The lacing of her dress caught in the rosebush and she barely even noticed. She hadn't known her body could feel so much - how had she been so blind to the wonders of taste and touch before? She only realised her eyes had closed on their own accords when they parted, feeling Malta's quick breathing match her own in the space between them.

She wanted to open them, to see if she'd mussed up Malta's locks, if her cheeks had reddened in joy, if their kiss showed on her lips. To wake up and be properly scandalized over what they'd done.

But Delo could do neither. Malta's ghost haunted her lips and her thoughts. _Oh_ , she thought. So this is what it's like to kiss?

Malta guided her backwards, following into her chair, and Delo let her lead, still and pliant in her arms. With the hardness of the smooth wood beneath her and the hot press of her friend's form above her, Delo felt slightly less unreal. She blinked open her eyes, as if waking up from a deep dream.

Malta _was_ blushing and biting her lip and Delo's heart raced at the sight. But there was also defiant concern in her friend's eyes. Delo knew Malta and at once she knew that whatever Malta had intended, it hadn't been this. She squeezed her hand to show her she was the same, to show that she was fine. 

Malta smiled at her brilliantly, before a calculating gleam entered her eyes. 

"That went well for a first attempt, don't you think, Delo?"

Delo glared at her. She couldn't believe Malta could say that right now, but she also didn't want the hidden perfection of their moment to end just yet. She didn't want to talk or even think about it. So Delo leaned in to kiss her again. They were practicing, after all. 

And if it was turning out to be the most fun way to impress Malta yet… well, that was just a bonus. 


End file.
